


We're On Burlesque Time

by ninhursag



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, D/s, Exhibitionism, F/M, Multi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's playing a game. Someone else likes to watch a little too much</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're On Burlesque Time

**Author's Note:**

> 1466 words. For the kink bingo square: bondage (wrist restraints)

They could have been any kind of courting pair, bright and laughing in the candlelight. There's a girl, a shock of red hair cascading loose over her green shoulders, bright pleasure visible in her blue eyes. She's feeding her friend cake by the forkful, teasing him with it while he just laughs and licks the crumbs from his lower lip. If anything his eyes are even bluer, brighter, but that might just be a contrast to the pale pink of his skin.

They could be any couple, well, any Orion and Human couple, but the galaxy saw rarer all the time. Except that if you stare hard enough (she's not staring, she couldn't help but notice) you'd see that the boy's hands are cuffed behind his back. Beautiful cuffs, thick and silver, like jewelry. They glitter in the candlelight, bright, screaming for attention, calling for eyes on them (why isn't everyone staring?).

Uhura watches them for a full five minutes before she realizes she's staring, that her face feels hot and she's reaching for her water glass. Can't stop staring as the boy leans forward, lips parted, just a little, and the girl raises a glass full of a smooth, red liquid and tilts it up for him. He closes his eyes and Uhura can swear she can see the movement of his throat when he swallows.

She's ripped her napkin to shreds without realizing she's done it and another near full minute goes by before her brain connects with her stomach she really understands what she's seeing. This far on the edge of Federation space, anything can happen, but this place is hardly Risa. She's in a nice restaurant eating expensive food, waiting to meet her superior officer, not a place where people can-- but when she takes a quick, careful scan of the room no one seems to be watching the couple but her.

They're just two people eating a meal, she tells herself, it's not like either of them look less than-- than pleased. It's no one's business. She's the one who... who can't peel her gaze away. Especially not when the girl lifts the table knife and he licks it clean for her. His tongue looks soft, pink. Uhura can hear when he starts laughing, bright and honest, and the sound echoes through the perfect, polite room, too loud for it.

She's staring. She doesn't know why everyone in the room hasn't noticed her staring and followed the stare to see them. Her collar is on too damned tight. She shivers and tries to loosen it. Almost jumps out of her skin when the chair across from her is scraped back and the waiter guides the Commander into it. He's tall and perfectly pressed in his Science Blues. The picture of unassailable calm.

She forces her attention to him, forces her face into a polite smile and thanks everything that Vulcans don't shake hands because her palms are sweat slick and disgusting. "Lieutenant Uhura," the Commander says and nods his head in greeting.

"Commander," she murmurs and tries to pretend she's got a thought in her head that isn't circling around that corner table. Uhura's always believed that if you visualize something hard enough you can make it so, but this tests her belief to the snapping point.

The Commander talks about the progress of their aid mission to a solar flare torn system and she nods and answers. She doesn't look, she doesn't look, her hands are in her lap, she doesn't see the boy's hands, flexing in those cuffs, the muscle in his wrist so obvious. Doesn't see the curl of the girl's smile, or the toes of one of her stocking feet slide over the boy's thigh. Instead, Uhura talks about medical supplies and sweats and smiles and smiles and bites the inside of her cheek.

She smiles and murmurs an excuse before slipping out of her seat, thinking about the lady's room, the chance to splash some water on her face. She doesn't look at the corner table on her way out so she doesn't notice that the table is empty. It probably wouldn't have stopped her if she had.

The heels of her boots click on the bathroom tiles and she unbuttons the collar of her fleet uniform. The woman in the mirror looks a thousand times cooler than Uhura feels, which she's grateful for, right up until she hears the sound of a boy's breathless laughter from one of the bathroom stalls.

"Gaila, I wanna--" she hears, before his voice cuts itself off. She flinches and sucks in her lower lip. She isn't looking, is not.

She's not craning her neck at all, angling so she can see in the mirror. There-- the last stall in the dark corner, the soles of someone's shoes, upturned. A man's shoes, flat and wide. He's on his knees. Uhura goes still, so still. She's always been so good at filtering sounds, catching the nuances. She can do it now. Her hands clench. She can hear water dripping from a loose faucet. She can hear a creak, the rush of pipes over her head.

There's the sound of a zipper being unfastened. Slow and jerky, such an awkward sound, like someone can't quite get a grip on it. Uhura closes her eyes and wonders why not, if the girl is doing that, panting unsteady breaths, or if it's the boy, hands still bound behind him, trying to pull some open with teeth and lips. He has nice lips, delicious, she can't stop seeing them now, wide and plush.

"Jim," a woman's voice whispers, thick, uneven. Uhura's eyes are open again, watching the mirror, watching. The stall gapes, just a little. She has the impression of skin, bright green and flushed pink, and a flash of those red curls. "Your mouth, come on," the woman urges. Her breaths come harder, faster. There's a wet, fleshy sound that Uhura can't connect with anything but--

She can't do this. She shudders, breathes. She's going to go. She's going to walk out the door.

Her boots click, sharp on the tiles and she wonders if they can hear her, or if they're too far gone into their game. She wonders if they can-- she can't. She shouldn't.

The Commander is waiting at the table, calm and polite, eyebrows raised in query. His eyes are dark and restful. Uhura forces a smile at him and wonders what he sees in her face now. "Please forgive the interruption," she says and he shrugs.

When he opens his mouth, it's business again. Cargo manifests. Uhura nods along and nods a little more for good measure. The pounding in her chest evens out, smooth and easy. They order coffee and dessert.

When she's finished her meal, the last dregs of dark, bitter coffee finally, finally gone, she spares a glance for that corner table. It's empty, neatened up already. Fresh plates and smooth, clean white napkins. She doesn't notice when the Commander follows her gaze, not until she turns back around to see him, eyebrows up, not quite smiling.

"Lieutenant," he murmurs and slides something out of his pocket. It looks like a card, simple, old fashioned white paper. There's something scrawled on it. Uhura looks from it to the Commander questioningly. His mouth curls up, just around the edges. He nods at that empty table. "The Captain and Lieutenant Gaila, who were the object of so much of your attention tonight requested I pass you this with their compliments. They also wished me to express that the interest was quite mutual."

Uhura opens her mouth, like she might protest, but she's already taking the card before she even has a chance to think it through. There's an address on it, and a number. Instead of a protest, she says, "Would you mind if I went?"

He tilts his head down, as if in deep, thoughtful consideration. Only someone who knew a Vulcan very well would see the lines of amusement tightening around his eyes. "On the contrary. You might say I find the proposition... intriguing."

Uhura laughs and tilts her mouth up, close enough to be easily caught in a kiss. "Intriguing enough to join me, Spock?" she asks.

There's a long pause, while he kisses her back, firm and careful, and very, very thorough. When he speaks, though, there's no hesitation. "Affirmative," he says. She winds her fingers through his and they go.

 

**Later**

"Jim thought you'd like him this way," Gaila says, and the light in her eyes is pure, untainted mischief. She takes one of Uhura's hands so suddenly Uhura almost jumps out of her grip. Only Spock, solid behind her, keeps her still.

"Maybe," she admits, as lightly as she can. Gaila grins at her. Takes that hand she hasn't released and rests it lightly on Jim's face, so easily in reach when he's spread out and presented on his knees. His skin is warm, a little rough with evening stubble. His lips are dry, like he's been licking them too often. Gaila's hand on her wrist is stronger, stronger than she ever would have guessed and it keeps her hand from shaking.

"Maybe?" Jim says and laughs and then sputters. Goes still when Gaila moves Uhura's hand under his chin, letting her run a finger down the clean line of his throat. She can feel the motion when he swallows.

"Definitely," Gaila croons, and there's something like malice in her tone, all mixed in with joy. "But, I think you'd like it even more if you could join him." There's a buzzing in Uhura's ears and she almost doesn't hear because Gaila's pulled something from her pocket with her free hand. Something cool and hard metal that barely has a chance to touch Uhura's skin before Gaila's passing it behind her, to Spock.

Uhura wants to turn around, crane her neck, see his face, if he's as still as always, if he's lifting his eyebrows, if he's smiling. But he's leaning forward to take the cuffs from Gaila-- to take Uhura's trapped wrist from Gaila-- and she can't even move. She's staring into Gaila's shining blue eyes.

Then his voice is in her ear, warm, warm breath, too warm to be human. "If this would please you, you must say so," he murmurs, soft, inflectionless.

Uhura can't speak at all for a moment, so all there is are his hands on her wrists, solid, firm-- God, less breakable than the cuffs. Waiting on her word. She shivers and he slides in closer, hips and thighs almost pressed to her ass, like he's trying to warm her. "Yes," she whispers.

He moves fast enough to leave her gasping, his hands neat and steady and familiar as they pull both of hers behind her back and slide the cuffs over them. They'd also be like this in the labs, on the controls of a starship, she's seen them. The handcuffs are padded inside, none of the expected bite of cold metal, but she still flinches instinctively when they click closed.

"Nyota?" he queries. She swallows hard and nods, leans back against him. He's steady, solid and... and hard. Aroused. Almost before she realizes it, she smiles. It's Gaila who smiles back at her, the gleam in her eyes softened by pleasure.

"Come here," Gaila urges, and leads her one shaky step forward. Spock moves with her, one hand on her shoulder and the other one her wrists. Between them, they settle her down on her knees, easy and careful, until she's kneeling facing Jim.

He's watching her, all wide blue eyes and soft red mouth. His chest heaves, like he's breathing too hard, but he leans forward, awkward and off balance, but like he knows exactly what he's doing. "Hi," he says, like he's so so casual. She sighs when his forehead brushes against hers, skin pressed to skin.

"Kiss him," Spock says, with such a sharp note of interest in his voice that she's obeying before she even thinks it through. Jim tastes of sweet dessert wine and his mouth is cooler than Spock's, just human, but still so warm and ardent. She wants to touch him and her hands twitch behind her, fingers shifting.

Gaila laughs, the sound floating above her head somewhere. "What a picture. I think they should make it the new Starfleet recruiting poster."

Spock's voice is cool, steady. He might as well be quoting statistics. "Indeed. I would hypothesize that the effect on enrollments would be pronounced. However, I might suggest a few small improvements of presentation." He pushes one steady, booted foot between Uhura's knees, prying them apart with careful slowness. She whimpers, catching herself on Jim's body and slides back into the kiss.


End file.
